A Very Jealous Sherlock
by Kalila1221
Summary: A fairly short fic in which Sherlock realizes his feelings for Molly as a result of some competition from Greg Lestrade and some advice from John Watson. Rated M just to be safe (the story is not explicit).


Sherlock strode through the door to the lab, faltering slightly when he noticed Lestrade standing next to Molly, his arm placed on her shoulder. Since when did Lestrade stand quite so close to her? And the way Lestrade had such a very intent look on his face, surely that wasn't normal? No, that combined with his slightly dilated pupils could suggest only one thing: attraction. Lestrade was trying to engage Molly in some kind of romance. But that was odd, wasn't it, as she was already engaged to that Tim person.

Molly and Lestrade turned slightly as they heard him approach. Sherlock was surprised to see that Molly had obviously been crying, and upon closer examination, was no longer wearing her engagement ring. Ah, thought Sherlock to himself, I see.

"Molly, it seems that you and Tim have broken up. I believe this is where I am supposed to offer my condolences, but he was rather an imbecile, so I will instead offer my congratulations. Now, can you give me a hand comparing these slides?", demanded Sherlock.

Molly raised an eyebrow, grabbed the slides, quickly made the comparisons, jotted down her results for Sherlock, and swept out of the lab.

Lestrade admonished, "That was a bit insensitive, even for you, Sherlock. I guess I'll go find her and, uh.. See if I can give her a bit of comfort."

Before he could stop himself, Sherlock told Lestrade, "I would advise against it. Her body language indicated no interest in you, from her pupils to the angle of her feet as they pointed away from you. She only allowed you to comfort her because she has no one else to do so. "

Lestrade deflated slightly, but said only, "We'll see", before striding off after Molly.

A few days later, after what would shortly come to be called The Adventure of the Blue-Handed Man was wrapped up (a simple case of argyrosis by poisoning), Sherlock overheard Lestrade asking Molly if she wanted to go out for drinks to celebrate.

There was something... Not quite right about that, to Sherlock. Lestrade wasn't even her type (brilliant, dark-haired, possibly sociopathic). Somehow, Lestrade was even worse to Sherlock than that Jim guy, because even Sherlock could admit that Lestrade wasn't totally useless. Lestrade simply wouldn't do for his Molly. His Molly... Hmm, that was odd. Somehow, it had a nice ring to it.

Without knowing why he did it, Sherlock found himself replying to Lestrade's bar invitation as if it had been meant for everyone present.

"You know, I have been looking for an opportunity to study a new drink that I've heard is popular in some of the bars in London. It may perhaps play a part in a future case. Anyone else going to join?"

John looked at him incredulously. He knew Sherlock had not set foot in a bar since the infamous bachelor party.

"Sherlock, are you quite sure that-"

"Yes, John, I am quite sure. Why don't we all go? Molly, you are coming, right?"

Molly looked between the increasingly annoyed Lestrade and the strangely pleasant-seeming Sherlock before replying that she would.

Thus, they walked to a nearby bar, with Molly sandwiched in between Lestrade and Sherlock, and John trailing after, still shaking his head bemusedly.

Sherlock was feeling decidedly worse for the wear. How did he come to down quite so many shots of that infernal drink?

Oh yeah... That man, Gabe or whatever his name was, had been insinuating that Sherlock couldn't handle his drink. And he couldn't have that, could he, not with John quietly nodding his head in agreement and Molly looking on with an amused smile. Both John and Molly had both long since left, not wanting to see the inevitably depressing end to the drinking contest, but Sherlock was determined to prove that Lestrade could not best him in anything. Especially in attracting Molly. Wait, that wasn't why he was doing this, was it?

Well, at this point, deductions of that sort would have to wait for the morning. He was starting to feel a bit queasy. No matter what though, he had to keep going. Gavin was starting to falter as well. Just a few more drinks... But as soon as Sherlock downed the next shot, he threw up all over a nearby stool. Great. He was starting to feel a bit better, stomach-wise, but the laughter of Gus as the bouncer ushered them out outweighed the relief.

"See? I told you that you were useless at drinking. Just like you are with women," said Lestrade.

"At least Molly has been in love with me for years. She hasn't so much as glanced your way, besides when she was getting over being dumped", replied Sherlock.

"Was. Was in love with you. But she got over you, and seems to be over Tom, and I plan to be here for the rebound. I've enjoyed working with that hot little ass over the years, and now I can finally have her."

Sherlock staggered back in surprise. Was it true that Molly no longer loved him? Well, she had stopped stuttering so much around him. And she no longer seemed quite so happy to help him in the lab. Had the signs been there, but he, Sherlock Holmes, been too blind to see them?

"No, that can't be true," he said, half to himself, but his voice showed his uncertainty. He turned, without ending his dispute with Lestrade, and jogged off down the sidewalk. He had already started to lurch into his mind palace, but he was aware enough to hail a cab, give his address, and collapse onto his couch before he let himself be enveloped by it completely.

After what felt like only a few minutes, he heard himself being called to by John.

"Sherlock! Here you are! Why haven't you been answering my calls?"

Sure enough, Sherlock looked down, and noticed that his phone now held a barrage of messages and calls.

"Oh, John, I've just been caught up in... In.."

"A case?", asked John.

'Well, of sorts..."

"Oh, can I help you then? Mary's been a bit of a pain today, I love her dearly, but what with the pregnancy hormones and all.."

"No, John, I'm not sure you can. Unless you can tell me why I'm so angry with George, and why on earth I care that all he wants to do is have sex with Molly and then dump her, to leave her even worse off than she was before? Or why I care that, by all appearances, Molly is no longer in love with me?"

John stared at his friend. He blinked twice. Then, he broke out into laughter and said, "Oh Mary is going to be so pleased! I told her that you were about as capable of romantic feelings as a pile of wet socks, but I was wrong! Oh, I can't wait to tell her!"

"Tell her what? If you've solved it, out with it, John!", exclaimed Sherlock with vexation.

"That you have feelings for Molly, you dolt!", yelled out John.

"I... What? Well, I guess that might explain a few strange circumstances..."

"Sherlock, that explains everything! I always knew it was odd! The way you can be so rude to her in person, but always ask after her when you haven't seen her! And the way you are so rude and yet oddly competitive towards Greg-yes, his name is Greg, Sherlock-, and the way I sometimes catch you staring at her for the longest time! My god! Only you, the world's greatest detective, and yet, the world's biggest idiot when it comes to romance, could have missed this!"

Sherlock took this speech in with wide eyes. He seemed almost on the verge of lapsing back into his mind palace when John shook him out of it.

"Oh, no you don't! We have to get you to tell Molly, before you talk yourself out of it! Come on! Into the shower with you! You've been sitting here since you left the bar last night, haven't you? Oh, and... You should wear your purple shirt. Of course, I think you always look the same, but I've noticed that Molly's stuttering always used to get a bit worse whenever you wore it", instructed John.

"You think... You think I should tell her? But, the absence of stuttering... The fact that she's no longer happy to analyze samples for me... John, what if she doesn't feel anything towards me anymore?"

"Well, Sherlock, that's where bravery comes in. And, if it makes you feel any better, Mary doesn't think that Molly's feelings have really changed one bit. She thinks Molly has just gotten better at hiding them."

"Well, what if she really has developed feelings for that Galileo person? I mean, even I know his true motives, what if she hasn't figured it out?"

"Sherlock, now you're just being silly. And it's Greg. Now, you've been sitting here for, what, about 14 hours now? Off, into the shower! And don't forget, purple shirt! Although, goodness knows Molly would probably still want you even if you wore a ratty old paper bag."

Sherlock obediently slunk off to gather fresh clothes and take a shower, and John got busy calling Molly.

"Molly? It's John here. I think there's something wrong with Sherlock, and I have to get back to make sure Mary is doing alright, so do you think you could come over and look after him for a bit? Oh, good. And, er, wear something nice, could you? Why, you ask? Oh, well, you don't have to, of course, but I think you will thank me later if you do. Perhaps some nice undergarments too? Er, don't tell Mary I said that. Oh dear, this is awkward. But you'll come, won't you? And call Mary later to tell her how it went, won't you? We- I mean she- will be anxiously awaiting your call. Later, then."

Molly set down the phone, feeling rather bewildered. Now, what was all that about? Of course, she'd be happy to check up on Sherlock, but what was that about undergarments? She would happily go the rest of her life without ever talking about undergarments with John again, no offense to him or Mary.

She put down the journal article she had been reading (about a new method for divesting flesh from bones, which could be useful for some future cases), before visiting her closet to find the knee length, slightly low cut royal blue dress that Mary had insisted she had to buy during a recent shopping trip and a pair of low, dark gray heels. Remembering John's advice, she paused to pick out a lacey, pale blue bra and panty set, the ones that reminded her of Sherlock's eyes. It never hurts to be prepared, she thought, no matter what was going on here.

She quickly showered, put on her change of clothing, blow dried her hair (deciding to leave it down), and put on a bit of mascara. Well, I have no idea what I'm in for, but I hope it will be good, she thought, before grabbing her purse and heading out the door with some degree of trepidation.

Sherlock, freshly showered, wearing the purple dress shirt (slightly unbuttoned, as Mary had instructed via text shortly after John had left) with a pair of black slacks, was pacing around the room.

This could either go very well, or very badly, he thought to himself, upon hearing a knock at the door.

He opened the door, to see Molly, looking, well... There was no other word but beautiful, really. Then he noticed just how low-cut her dress was before wrenching his eyes back up. He swallowed.

"Please come in."

"Sherlock, you look fine. Why did John say I had to come over and check on you?"

Sherlock looked towards the window, as if he could find a good answer there, before announcing that he was going to make some tea, and dashing off towards the kitchen.

Molly shrugged, but sat down to wait on the couch. Why did Sherlock have to look so devastatingly handsome all the time, she thought to herself. And the shirt. He was wearing the shirt that set off his eyes and curly brown locks. And why was she here, anyway?

Sherlock came back in and handed her a steaming cup of tea, before setting his own cup down.

"So, you're probably wondering why you're here."

"Right."

"And why there's nothing wrong with me."

"Brilliant deductions! So this must be why they call you a famous detective," she said, smiling.

Sherlock blushed. That was a new one, thought Molly.

"Well, the thing is...", began Sherlock, before trailing off.

"Yes? The thing is?"

"The thing is, that well, it would seem that... According to John... I am so worried about you all the time, and have such an irrational hatred of Garrick-"

"Greg?"

"Yes, him. As I was saying, I have such an irrational hatred of him, and want to outcompete him so much because, according to John, I..."

"Yes? According to John, you..?"

"Well, according to John, it would seem that I, er... Have feelings towards you", Sherlock replied, the last part muttered towards the floor.

Molly didn't dare breathe, for fear that it would break whatever spell Sherlock was under.

"Sherlock, maybe you aren't feeling well after all. It would be really sick if after all these years, after you've forgotten my name, and rarely thanked me for my help with your cases, and made that horrible comment about my lips and breasts-" here Sherlock winced, "after I've gotten engaged, and gotten over you, and moved on with my life... It would be really sick if now you decide to have feelings for me."

"Molly, I did apologize for that comment. In hindsight, it was nothing more than jealousy because I thought you were interested in another man, or so Mary will probably tell me. She seems to know my feelings better than I do these days. But, not yours, it would seem. I'm sorry John dragged you down here for nothing. It was nothing more than wishful thinking to believe you might still be interested in me."

Sherlock looked up at Molly, and noticed that she was leaned forward with her face cradled in her hands, crying quietly.

"Er-Molly, is this where I'm supposed to put my arm around you? Because, normally, you should be comforting me at this point. What with me just having had my heart broken and all."

Molly looked up from her hands. Indeed, Sherlock did look rather morose. He was staring at the ground, hands in his pockets, looking like a kid who had just had his candy taken away.

"Sherlock, you dunce, I still love you."

"But... I thought you said..."

"I moved on, or tried to, at least, but I still love you. Seeing you, tonight, in that ridiculously fitted purple shirt... Well, I don't think I'll ever be over you."

Sherlock looked up at her, smiling uncertainly.

"Then... Does that mean..."

Molly gave him a big, slightly teary smile.

"Sherlock, get over here."

He strode over, seeming to have regained some of his confidence. Molly pulled him down onto the couch next to her.

"So, I take it, this is where we kiss?", asked Sherlock.

"Got it in one, my brilliant detective."

Sherlock leaned in, eyes closed, and Molly took a deep breath to steady herself before closing the distance between them.

Their first kiss was short, but soft, and ever so perfect. Molly had always secretly believed that Sherlock's pale, plump lips would be perfect for kissing, and she was gratified to find out that she was right.

Sherlock felt his heart swell, ridiculously filling his entire chest in a way that it had never done with Janine, or any of the scant few other women he had kissed in his this is what everyone is always talking about, he thought to himself. He had to admit it was quite nice.

They pulled back, just to look at each other. Molly smirked a bit when she noticed his Cheshire cat smile. She had never seen him look so genuinely happy before. She leaned in a second time, and this time the kiss was long and slow, but gradually building. Her heart was racing, and before she knew it she was unbuttoning his shirt and slowly sliding one hand down his chest.

Sherlock pulled back in surprise. "Molly, I'm not really very experienced at this sort of thing," he warned, with a slightly panicky look in his eyes.

Molly smiled, biting her lip. Nervous Sherlock was adorable.

"It's ok, Sherlock," replied Molly."I have wanted to be with you for so long that this will most likely make me deliriously happy, no matter what. Really, don't worry."

With those words of encouragement, Sherlock pulled Molly up into his surprisingly strong arms and carried her towards his bedroom.

Suddenly, Molly giggled.

"What is it?", asked Sherlock anxiously.

"Oh, nothing. I just suddenly realized what a good wing-man John is. I have the feeling you will be thanking him for his wardrobe recommendations shortly."


End file.
